


Make Me (Throat) Sing

by AdelineAround



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Begging, Deepthroating, Hand Jobs, Kissing, M/M, Nonverbal Communication, Not Beta Read, Oral Sex, Post-Revolution, Quiet Sex, Rough Oral Sex, Self-Discovery, Sign Language, Sort of? - Freeform, Temporary Muteness, bottom hank being on top for once, mute connor, top connor being bottom for once, wireplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-01
Updated: 2018-10-01
Packaged: 2019-07-23 12:45:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16159238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AdelineAround/pseuds/AdelineAround
Summary: Connor is without a voice box temporarily. However, he finds that being an android with android anatomy has its advantages.Hank is the one to find out.





	Make Me (Throat) Sing

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pseudoanalytics](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pseudoanalytics/gifts).



> Happy first of Halloween. :) I'm bringing my sp00ky decor out with this freak fic.  
> Thanks to quip for the inspiration that fueled this thing to the end.

“H-hank, help.”

Hank stares at Connor with round, unblinking cerulean eyes. Maybe he heard wrong, but how could he mishear something so simple as his name?

Quickly, the lieutenant rushes to his android partner’s side. Connor is lying supine, blue thirium spilling from the fresh wound located where his throat should be. Except, it is not; the unsub attacked Connor, ripped his throat clean before Connor shot them point blank in the chest. Hank does not care to check on the suspect, now lying in his warm pool of seeping blood. The rich red stains the threadbarren carpet below, the pungent smell of iron beginning to flood each nasal passage. Hank would not care less as he shouts at Connor, trying to get him to respond.

“Connor! Connor, c’mon, can you hear me?” He shakes the android by the shoulders, attempting to provoke an action. “God, you’re bleeding everywhere.”

Connor makes a wheezing noise, sounding more like a fan whirring top speed than anything else. His right hand drops the pistol he is holding, but not without clicking the gun on safety first. His doe brown eyes lock with Hank’s as he closes his fingers around Hank’s strong bicep. The biocomponents, now exposed, glow a warm amber, the wiring looking sinuous like ripped muscle. He makes a gesture with his chin, but he cannot move much, for fear that he will lose more precious thirium.

“Shh, shh,” Hank shushes the android when Connor makes another whirring processor sound. “Backup’s on the way. Let’s get you out of here. You need to be looked over at CyberLife.”

Connor shakes his head at the lieutenant’s statement. No, he conveys clearly. Not CyberLife, not after all that Amanda has done to him. He does not want to go back, even if that means not being able to talk again. He would rather _die_ than go back to CyberLife and risk being reset… or worse.

Thankfully, Hank gets the hint, because he says, “Okay, okay. No CyberLife. We need to stabilize your neck, though. I don’t want your head coming off in transportation, you hear me?” Before Connor can nod, Hank adds, “And don’t agree to that. Just stay still while I find… something.”

Connor, instead of nodding, lifts his hand, signing a prompt “OK”. Hank lifts his brows at that, but says nothing.

Hank leaves Connor alone for a minute to scrounge the unsub’s hotel room. Connor keeps his eyes open, listening as police sirens approach the building. Hank’s heavy feet shuffle across the flooring as he finds materials for what Connor can imagine will be a blanket roll to immobilize his head. Hank comes back to him with exactly that, ripping a curtain in strips with his strong hands, as they can be used as cravats.

“You still with me, Connor?” Hank asks, placing the blanket roll on one side of the android’s head before sliding the other side under him; his head and neck immobilized successfully when Hank knots the cravats securely.

Connor puts his hand up in a fist, signing a very content “yes” to Hank.

**WARNING  
Thirium depletion in sector L4APH9.**

“Alright,” Hank says, his gaze so soft that Connor might just melt into the floor if he could. He is so concerned for Connor that it is endearing. “I’m contacting Markus. I just hope they can help.”

 _OK_ , Connor signs. The now organization Jericho should know what to do.

Hank whips out his phone, unlocking it so he can dial Markus for help, but not before he strokes Connor’s cheek gently. It is the last thing Connor feels before his system forces temporary hibernation.

* * *

**SOFTWARE ANALYZATION COMPLETE  
** STATUS: L4APH9 REPLACED  
BIOCOMPONENT NEW  
CHECKING CORRESPONDING BIOCOMPONENT PH667X  
…  
NO OTHER DAMAGE FOUND  
REBOOTING  
STARTING SYSTEM  
SYSTEMS COMING BACK ONLINE 

Connor gasps, or tries to, but all the comes out of his mouth is the same wheeze he made when he was losing thirium from his neck. He looks down to find himself hooked up to a calibration machine, suspended in air as monitors check his vitals constantly. It is bright, but not pristine, and Connor relaxes; this is not CyberLife. He is safe.

“He’s awake,” Connor can hear North’s soft voice, eyes soon focusing on her bright shock of auburn hair.

Footsteps come near him- Markus stands in front of him, smiling softly at him. Hank follows suit, so close that Connor can feel his thirium pump beating with joy. The lieutenant must have stayed here while Connor was out. The man will never know how happy that makes Connor.

“Hi, Connor,” Markus greets him. “Can you talk? You can try out your new voice box,”

“H-hello, Markus,” Connor’s voice comes out tinny at first, but quickly adjusts to his normal tone. “Lieuten-a-aa-”

Red popups flood his vision then, and Connor furrows his brows as he reads over them as quickly as his systems will allow.

**BIOCOMPONENT MALFUNCTION  
PLEASE REPLACE BIOCOMPONENT L4APH9**

“What the hell is happening, Markus? Why isn’t he talking?” Hank sounds frustrated, like he has been waiting days for Connor to wake. Maybe he has, but Connor cannot be sure. He cannot tap into the universal network yet, still preoccupied with the issue popups.

Markus’ face strickens into one of conflict, his lips pursing into a set frown. 

“The new biocomponent we installed must have been rejected by his system,” Markus explains.

It is Hank’s turn to frown. “The fuck does that mean… in English, please?”

Markus opens his mouth to speak, but North cuts him to the chase, “Connor’s body is rejecting the new part, just like how humans sometimes reject body piercings.” She glares once at the human lieutenant, but otherwise did not do anything else.

Hank huffs a sigh. “So… now what? Connor’s going to broken forever?”

“No,” Markus says, “Not forever. Connor is _fine_. His system is functioning perfectly, save for his vocal component. Other than that, he can function just fine… right, Connor?”

Connor blinks, caught off guard by Markus’ inquiry for affirmation. He signs an “OK”, unsure if he is allowed to move his head yet.

“Until we can find a more compatible component, Connor will not be able to communicate verbally,” concludes Markus. “However, he is fully functional besides that. Connor, you can move your neck, if you’d like. Try it,” He presses a few buttons on the side console, the rig holding him up disconnecting from his neck port and lowering him down to the floor.

Connor rolls his shoulders, slowly rotating his head and testing his neck area. Everything feels fine, save for the fact that he cannot yet talk. He figures this is better than shutting down completely, losing too much thirium and sustaining an injury worse than just a torn-out larynx. He is thankful for Hank’s ability to act so quickly in getting him help. Without the lieutenant, Connor figures he would be in a worse place with even worser damage to his throat.

 _Hank_ , Connor spells out in sign language.

He smiles as Hank begins to barrel towards him, wrapping him around in a big bear hug in front of the others. He feels so comforted in those arms of Hank Anderson’s; wraps his own around the man, and links his two hands together before lifting the lieutenant off the ground with his superpower strength. Hank yelps, reddening in the face, but he is equally as happy to reunite with Connor.

Connor puts the man back down after a second.

“Looks like you two have no problem communicating so far,” Connor whips his head to see Simon entering the room. “The component is completely detachable, should you need to remove it. If there is anything we can do until the new biocomponent comes in, let me know.”

“Thanks, uh,” Hank starts, looking at Connor to magically produce Simon’s name for him. But he cannot, because Connor’s voice box is not working.

 _Simon_ , Connor spells out slowly for Hank, to which Simon chuckles.

“You’re welcome, lieutenant Anderson,” he grins, taking Markus’ hand in his. “We will keep you updated. Until then, you are free to go home.”

“How long do you think you can have the new component?” Hank asks.

Markus nibbles on his bottom lip, eyes flicking left and right, as if he is sorting the data on his HUD. He finally answers after a few seconds, “A few days, at maximum. Simon will call either one of you when the new biocomponent gets here.”

 _Thank you, Simon_ , signs Connor, though he can just telecommunicate with the other. He gets a knowing nod from the PL600.

“We’ll keep in contact, Simon.” Hank says without fail. He keeps his hand on the small of Connor’s back, helping guide him as they exit the building.

Connor has never been more excited to go back _home_.

* * *

It is not even a full twenty-four hours before the new bicomponent gets too irritating to handle. Connor needs a break from it, the pseudo itching feeling of it lodged in his throat area too great to handle.

He is grateful Fowler has approved temporary leave for him until he can get his voice back. He is like the Little Mermaid, he thinks to himself as he makes his way to the bathroom, living with the one he loves most while being unable to verbally communicate with him. He just hopes no Ursula will snatch Hank up, as played out in the Disney movies he has read synopses of while Hank sleeps at night. The man sure as hell will not sit through a Disney movie with Connor, not even if one bet him one-million dollars in US currency.

Still, the point still stands; Connor feels quite content staying in Hank’s home while the lieutenant officer works at the precinct. Sumo certainly likes having another entity around, if Connor can speak for the dog himself.

Standing in front of the mirror, Connor stares at his reflection, dampening the Mulan theme song that wants to play in his mind palace. Not a hair on his head is out of place, freckles light and clean shaven like when he was first designed. He reaches for his throat.

Almost abruptly, Connors synthetic skin melts away to reveal his larynx. It is a damn shame this new biocomponent is not as compatible as he had hoped. The fit looks perfect, so snug and a clean white that Connor almost does not want to remove said component. But then the itching comes back, and all Connor wants to do is claw at his neck and take that malfunctioning piece out.

Carefully, he presses on the top part of the biocomponent, hearing it click as it pops free from the socket. He dismisses the warning screen, fingers gripping it firmly before he jimmies it from his throat.

A little more… just a little…

Got it.

Connor successfully extracts the voice box component from his throat. Softly, he places it on the sink, admiring the gaping hole that he now has in his neck. He can see the wiring has been connected, sealed and cauterized, the meticulous repair done with such skilled hands that even Connor is impressed. It must be Josh’s work, he thinks, judging on how steady his comrade’s hands are. Jericho definitely is filled with very resourceful androids, each with different skills and talents to further help each other.

A finger wiggles towards the repairs made to Connor’s exposed throat. He touches one of the wires out of curiosity, jolting when a surge of energy bolts up his synthetic spinal column. He pulls his hand back, shocked at first, but then tries it again; he cannot help himself.

This time, he strokes against a flexible, silicone nub that might represent his Adam’s apple or epiglottis. Whatever it is for, touching it brings forth a nerve-sizzling, moan-inducing, pink-LED light triggering effect. Connor shivers in delight as he touches it again, receiving more of that feeling and letting it travel through his cables and wires.

It feels… good.

So good.

Connor does not need to look down to realize that he is growing rock hard, arousal kicking in fast from just throws minute touches. It excites him to no end.

Fast, Connor fingers the inside of his throat, feeling the loose wire and cables that run a jungle within. Another pulse of feeling surges through him, and he opens his mouth to pant. The spin of his internal cooling fans make him gurgle a silent groan. Connor’s system lags a bit, notifying him that his knees are starting to buckle. If he does not sit down, he will surely fall to the ground.

Where is Hank when Connor needs him?

Connor barely has time to rush to the bedroom, unable to stop himself from touching inside his throat. It is scary; he feels the fear churning with ever-present arousal in his chest. He unzips his pants, already palming at his half-mast erection. Another jolt of pleasure sizzles the ends of his nerves when Connor finds the beginning of his tongue, teasing the synthetic muscle there. He imagines the moan he would have made if his vocal processor could somehow work.

He can’t do this alone, just stroking his cock while getting off to the pleasure coming from his open throat.

With haste, he sends out a text message to the lieutenant’s phone:

**Hank, please come home as soon as you can.  
** Please  
Plea se  
Pl4353 000000  
00010100111010100011 

And, just like that, the front door of the house is opening, Sumo’s nails clacking against the floor as he greets his owner. Hank must have just gotten done parking the car when Connor sent out the text message. Sturdy shoes are discarded at the front of the coat stand, scarf and jacket going with it. Connor flicks against his uvula and the processor wires there, wheezing as his vision flickers briefly.

“Did you miss me, Con-” Hank’s footsteps freeze at the entranceway of the bedroom, eyes bugging at the sight.

 _Hank_ , signs Connor, spelling his name rapidfire.

 _Just ‘Hank’_ , Hank is able to sign back; he forms his hand into an “h”, swiping it in a swooped motion just over his upper lip, like a moustache, then spells out his name again, slower than Connor.

 _You know Sign_. Connor is impressed, _Come here_. He wrenches his fingers away from his pharynx, reaching out for Hank instead.

“Cole was…” Hank signs while talking, and Connor raises his brows. It makes sense now. He comes closer to the bed, taken by surprise when Connor grabs him by the shoulders, all but slam-dunking him to the mattress below. “God, Connor, what’s going on with you?”

Connor wrestles Hank so that the lieutenant is beneath him, hiking up his legs so that Connor can grind his dick desperately against the man’s ass. He moans silently, mouth hanging open as he does so.

“Whoa, hold the fuck on, Connor,” Hank sounds flustered, pink invading the apples of his cheeks, but Connor cannot care less right now. He can see the man’s heart rate rising, his fat member twitching in its confines a clear sign that Connor’s ministrations are a turn-on. “I’m not a spring chicken anymore.”

 _I don’t care_ , Connor signs, lips formed into a pout. He craves to feel the pleasure from his wires being poked and prodded at. _Need you_.

“Need me, where?” Hank asks, a bubble of laughter imminent in his voice. “My ass is still sore from last night. Sorry, honey,”

Connor rolls his eyes at Hank’s mock empathy, knowing that Hank probably would scream if he is adamant on fucking Hank again. There are other ways to have sex, pops into his head. His systems tell him that his mouth is willing to get some action.

 _Fine_ , Connor signs, easing up on the man before he wiggles down Hank’s body like a snake.

Hank smells like sweat and musk, shirt disheveled no thanks to Connor, but also from what might have been a long, hard day at work. He stops along Hank’s pectorals, eyeing them devilishly before locating a nipple. He closes his lips around one through the clothing, suckling at them without fail.

“A-ahh,” Hank throws his head back in the sheets. “Careful, Connor. ‘M swollen there, too.” Pulling back, he bites down on Hank’s nipple before releasing it, watching as Hank hisses at the overstimulation. “I won’t last if you keep this up, Connor. And something tells me that you want me to last.”

Hank is right.

Score: Hank 1 - Connor 0

So Connor gets to work; the closer he gets to Hank’s pants, the stronger the scent becomes; something that makes Connor’s vitals jump tenfold. He licks his lips unconsciously, teeth and tongue finding the button of Hank’s zipper with ease.

“Holy shit, Connor,” Hank curses when Connor agilely, gracefully slips the button through its loophole, teeth then catching on the metal zipper to pull it down.

It looks like something out of a movie, like something out a porn video, but it is all happening in front of Hank. Connor looks up at him with his chocolate eyes, smirking like a devil. A whimper escapes Hank’s throat at the sight, and he wishes he could record what he sees but, alas, his phone is still in the pocket of his coat that he had hung up in the living room moments ago. He will have to ask for a similar scenario at a later date.

 _Hank_ , signs Connor, brushing his fingertips over the lieutenant’s clothed erection. The noise that comes from his internal cooling fans sounds like that of a purring cat, and he cannot say it does not fit the situation at hand. _You want it?_

Hank grits his teeth together, jaw clenched when his hips jerk up into the feathery touches Connor gives him. The android holds him down with a palm, teasing and brushing his soft lips over the fabric of Hank’s now taught boxers. Only when Connor peels the boxers down with flat teeth does Hank force the RK800 model off him in favor for undressing.

When Connor looks mildly perturbed that he was “rejected”, Hank chuckles, ruffling the android’s hair as he stands, and Connor sits on the bed.

“Don’t look so mad, Connor,” he says, shucking his shirt, pants and undergarments from his body. He throws it in a heap somewhere across the room, uncaring, as either he or Connor will pick it up later. Connor watches him with a careful eye. “Well, aren’t you going to get naked, too?”

Connor blinks. Right, he should probably do that to avoid any complications caused by fabric. The mission in his mind is prompting him to skip the unrobing, deemed unnecessary, but he ignores when it blares at him.

His clothes join the pile Hank has started.

As soon as his clothes gather with Hank’s, Connor is all over him, touching and clawing and bringing him down to the bed again as Hank fights to keep up. They kiss, rough and hurried, tongues coming out to play with one another, chasing each other to and from their mouths. Connor crawls on top of Hank again, finding one of the man’s wrists and holding it firmly. He brings it to his open trachea, prompting Hank to take initiative and _feel_.

“What-” Hank starts.

His thick fingers brush a bundle of wires on the side of Connor’s pharynx, eliciting a strong reaction from the android; Connor moans mutely, eyelids fluttering rapidly. The glowing amber from inside his throat pulses brighter for just a second before evening back to stasis. Hank gasps, trying it again, this time stroking over the wires with more strength. It is like a lightshow, brilliant hues of orange and yellow strobing over and over.

Connor goes slack, mouth open around a silent mewl, only one arm holding him from collapsing on Hank. He bares his neck for the lieutenant, rubbing his fat erection against Hank’s thigh. It feels exquisite, so unlike anything else he has ever felt in his lifetime. He...

He wants more.

 _Yes, yes_ , he signs with his free hand. He reaches down to take Hank’s cock in his hand, pumping the organ perfunctorily before continuing, _I want_ this.

“Mm,” Hank hums, now playing with the rubber prong representing Connor’s Adam’s apple. Connor lets out a shudder, LED turning yellow to match his insides. “Where do you want _that_ to go?” he refers his throbbing cock that is reddening at the foreskin-coddled tip.

If Connor could whine, he would have by now. He stops stroking Hank in favor of signing, _I-in me, Hank._

“In you?” Hank asks so sweetly that Connor might just cry. “In you, where?”

 _Here_ , Connor places either hand at the edges of his exposed trachea, spreading his synthetic skin as if it were his mouth.

If that does not give Hank palpitations, he does not know what does.

Pushing the android off his lap, he repositions them so Connor lies flat on the bed with Hank hovering over him. His knees are placed at the sides of the android’s shoulders, hips poised with his heavy cock hanging between his legs. Connor sticks out his tongue, looking like the definition of debauched, knowing full well what is going through Hank’s horny center of the brain.

Hank drags the head of his member over Connor’s plush lips, letting the android swirl and flick over the slit of it. He dips his tongue there, getting a taste of salty precum to whet his voracious appetite for Hank’s cock, brows knitting together in frustration when Hank retreats… in favor for his open throat.

Oh. That is so much better, comes the thought. Connor nearly vibrates in delight; his throat clenches in anticipation.

Slowly, oh so slowly does Hank feed his cock into Connor’s exposed trachea. A gurgle comes from within, bubbling around Hank’s length as he watches it disappear, now engulfed by Connor. Inch by agonizing inch, Connor takes it all, until his nose is buried in the greying hairs of Hank’s pubic bush. For once, Hank is glad that androids do not need to breathe. Even then, he can feel the suction around his cock as Connor’s automatic functions simulate the act of inhaling and exhaling oxygen.

“Fuck, Connor,” Hank groans, breathing out heavily when Connor starts to move.

 _That’s the point_ , signs Connor, a lopsided grin on his face.

But, as soon as it appears, it is gone, as Hank begins to move. Something breaks the resistance building in the back; waves of pleasure course through Connor’s wires, notifications obscuring his vision for a brief moment. He feels his mouth and pharynx spasming around Hank, unable to control it. It feels scary and wonderful at the same time; Hank’s cock hits absolutely _everywhere_ in Connor’s throat.

Connor’s eyes roll back in their sockets when Hank thrusts into his neck, the silicone nub of his Adam’s Apple being pushed and folded to the side of Hank’s thick girth. There is so much of Hank; Connor does not know if he can fit it all within his throat, but he tries anyway.

“It’s so tight in you,” Hank comments almost subconsciously.

Connor swallows around Hank in agreement, ripping a moan out from the man, and grips Hank’s thigh for anchorage. The lieutenant slams in and out of his throat with an unforgiving pace, panting and moaning wantonly all the while.

Everything is becoming too good, too much. Connor is at full-mast, his cock begging for attention. With the hand he grips Hank’s thigh, he removes it in favor to wrap around his weeping member, stroking hard and fast in sync with Hank’s sloppy rhythm. His overload capacity is getting closer to automatic reboot, but Connor cannot find it in him to care. Hank is hitting all the right cables in him, frazzling his ends and fueling the arousal burning within his core. He focuses on the pleasure, consciously swallowing _again and again_ to clench around the lieutenant’s length.

“Oh, fuck, Connor,” Hank hisses through his teeth.

His hands are shaking as he cups Connor’s jaw, wishing so badly to kiss the android; if only he could bend impossibly to reach Connor’s lush lips. He gazes into Connor’s beautiful brown eyes, watching them lose focus whenever Hank thrusts in. Connor’s arm moves to the tempo of his hips; the android is jerking off to his throat being fucked. Hank piledrives into him, balls taut against his skin. He is not going to last much longer.

He tells Connor that much.

Connor keens then, makes a machine noise that sounds akin to metal grinding against metal. It comes from his sternum, so close to his thirium pump that he would be concerned, if not for the overwhelming pulses of pleasure shaking his chassis to pieces. He speeds up his pace, his member beginning to chafe from the force of it. Hank’s hips punch him in the throat, the feeling so immensely good that Connor is losing control of himself. Just a little more… a little more…

 

And then he’s coming, and he has no way of warning Hank before he does.

Connor’s orgasm hits him like a train, ramming him so hard in the bust that he feels as though he is flying off the handles. His body quakes, like he is being electrocuted and cannot do anything but ride the flow of the current. Connor’s vision is spliced as he struggles to keep his eyes open. His mouth is open, but his pseudo breathing functions are off. He is vaguely aware of the cock lodged within his throat, twitching violently within the plastic walls of his pharynx. His auditory is blown, detecting only the loudest of noises yet relaying them faintly. It is like his heart has stopped in favor for this orgasm to wash through him, scramble the information in his brain before flipping the switch off, then on again.

Gasping, Connor reboots just in time to catch Hank shooting warm spurts of spunk into his throat. It fills his olfactories, and Connor wishes that it would have landed on his tongue instead so he could analyze the contents. Hank, above him, howls like a wolf, emptying his load, nose scrunching and drool seeping from the corner of his mouth. His hips seize as Hank’s howling softens to grunts, cock finally leaving Connor’s throat with a sticky, pearl trail of cum hanging from its girth.

Before Hank can move away, Connor seals his lips around his dick, licking the rest of the mess it, savoring the base flavor of Hank’s seed when it hits his substance analyzer.

A laugh puffs out from Hank’s diaphragm as he scoots back from Connor to lie with him on the bed. Connor smiles back. He will have to drain his throat eventually but, for now, he can indulge in some cuddles with his lieutenant.

They intertwine their hands, thumbs running over the skin there as they stare at each other with adoration; stealing kisses every so often, allowing their bodies to cool from the activities that had taken place just seconds earlier.

 _Thank you_ , Connor signs, pecking Hank lightly on the cheek this time. _I love you_.

“You are so freaky sometimes, you know that?” Hank chuckles, kissing Connor back, but on the nose. His beard tickles Connor’s skin. “But I love you, too.”

Connor smiles one more time, monitoring Hank until he falls asleep to the beat of Connor's thirium pump.

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave kudos and comments down below if you liked it.  
> Alternate title for this fic was "Pop That Thrussy", but I'd scare everyone away with that.  
> Come scream at me @ra9sthiccbicc on twitter.


End file.
